Ascension Of The Villain-Chapter 313: Back To The Fateful Day

The golden hues of evening spilled gently across the room, stretching through the tall windows and brushing the marble floor with fading warmth. Vyan sat hunched over a cluttered table, rifling through ancient spellbooks, his fingers leaving smudges of ink and dust on the delicate pages.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Vyan said, without looking up.

Clyde stepped inside quietly, boots padding against the floor with uncharacteristic softness. His eyes immediately fell on Vyan's face, on the way his wine-red eyes flicked with a strange, quiet fire that hadn't been there in days. For over a week, Clyde had watched him drift through the manor like a broken doll, too silent or too loud—there was no in between.

But now, something had shifted.

There was life again.

And that unsettled him.

When a storming madman suddenly becomes his previous calm, calculating self, it was definitely concerning.

"You look…" Clyde tilted his head, choosing his words carefully. "Less like someone who hasn't slept in a week and more like someone on a mission."

Vyan didn't glance up. "What brings you here, Clyde?"

"I came to check on you," Clyde said honestly. "And… to inform you. Tomorrow's the former emperor's execution. A public one. Like you wanted. Athy asked if you were planning to attend. She said she'd reserve the best seat for you."

Vyan's hand paused briefly on a page before flipping it. "It's fine. I don't care much for the show anymore. As long as he dies, that's enough."

Clyde hummed softly, folding his arms. "Yeah. I figured you'd say that." He eyed the open books scattered across the desk. "What are you doing anyway?"

Vyan leaned back slightly, running a hand through his dark hair, eyes still fixed on the faded ink in front of him. "Just… looking through some spells."

Clyde squinted at him. "You? Looking through spells?" He narrowed his eyes. "You've been practically allergic to them the past few days. You wouldn't even glance at anything but medical or curse-related books. So, what's changed?"

"I have my reasons," Vyan replied. "Why? You don't want me to study? Would you rather I call the innocent staff and shout at them?"

Clyde sighed, his voice dipping into concern. "Honestly? Yeah. That would be less terrifying. Because at least then I'd know you're using anger as a coping mechanism. But this… this is something else."

Vyan finally looked up. The light hit his face just right—sharp jaw, tired eyes, a haunted kind of hope sitting quietly in his gaze.

"Don't worry about it," he said softly. "I'll be fine. I'll be back to normal soon." He closed one of the spellbooks with a quiet thud, resting his hand on its worn leather cover. "Because Iyana will be fine."

There was something in the way he said it. Not just faith. That wasn't just hope. That was resolve.

Dangerous, dangerous resolve.

"…What are you planning, Vyan?" Clyde asked quietly, but Vyan had already turned back to the next book. freewebnσvel.cѳm

And didn't answer.

Clyde let out a quiet click of his tongue and walked over, the sound of his footsteps muted by the thick carpet beneath. He placed something on the edge of the desk—a softly glowing stone, orange in hue, shaped into a neat octagon. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

"What's that?" Vyan asked without looking up.

"A mana stone," Clyde said simply.

Vyan glanced at it, then shot him a dry, unimpressed look. "I know what a mana stone is, Clyde. I own fifteen bloody mines of it. Why are you giving me one like I'm some starving mage off the street?"

Clyde crossed his arms and leaned slightly against the edge of the desk, his expression somewhere between annoyed and deeply worried. "Because you're barely functioning these days," he said bluntly. "You're not eating. You're not sleeping. You're not even thinking well. So, I just wanted to give you something as a backup, in case your own mana fails you, which is highly likely, considering you haven't been taking good care of yourself."

Vyan's eyes dropped to the stone. The soft glow reflected in his wine-red irises, making them look even more tired than they already were. He didn't argue—because Clyde wasn't wrong. His body felt heavier each day, his head foggier, his spells more sluggish. He hadn't even noticed how hollowed-out he looked in the mirror this morning.

After a pause, he reached out and took the mana stone, holding it gently. "Alright, thanks. I'll probably need it."

Clyde's expression softened into a smile. "But I hope you don't."

———

The night was hushed, cloaked in a kind of stillness that only ever draped itself around the quietest moments of the heart. The moon spilled silver light across the floor of Vyan's bedroom, bathing everything in its glow—the furniture, the books… and the bed where she lay.

Iyana.

Vyan stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His boots barely made a sound against the floor as he crossed the room, his fire-lit eyes softening as they settled on her still form. The candlelight flickered across her pale face, dancing over her features like a memory trying to hold on.

He sank down on the edge of the bed beside her, one hand reaching out, brushing against strands of her platinum-blonde hair with infinite gentleness. His fingers combed through them like he was touching something fragile and breakable.

"Hey, love," he whispered, a faint smile tugging at his lips, even though his voice trembled at the edges. "I know you'd call me an idiot for this, but… it's the only way left for me. For us to be together again. So I'm going to the past, okay?"

He exhaled slowly, feeling the coldness seep into his fingers from her skin. "I don't know if I can fix everything," he murmured. "But I'm going to try. And when I come back… I hope you're here. I hope you're waiting for me—with that teasing smile of yours and your arms open like you always did whenever I come to see you."

His voice cracked slightly, but he swallowed it down, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"I really, really hope your touch is warm again."

He leaned down and pressed a final kiss to her forehead. His lips lingered there, as if trying to memorize the cold so that soon he could marvel at the difference later.

Then, he stood up.

He stepped back, the moonlight casting silver across his face as he raised his hands and spoke the words. Runes flickered to life, forming a glowing circle in the air around him, lines of light bending.

They shimmered in sequence, forming constellations of power that stretched into spirals and coordinates. He wasn't just casting a spell. He was choosing a moment. A place. A sliver in time as carefully selected as a page in a book.

The air tightened. Magic snapped into place like a trap waiting to spring. Curtains fluttered from a breeze that hadn't been there a second ago.

Then, a pull. Not from outside, but from inside the world itself.

And Vyan vanished.

Everything lurched.

The world twisted, gravity spun sideways, and in the blink of an eye, he was somewhere else. Somewhen else. The scent of his room vanished, replaced by the hum of a layered ward.

He stumbled, catching himself against a luxurious couch.

He blinked at his surroundings. A room. Quiet, nondescript. Tapestries hung over stone walls, gilded chairs lined one side, velvet couches on the other, and a gold-rimmed mirror stood in the corner. It looked like a waiting room—elegant, impersonal, likely somewhere in the Grand Hall.

He stood up and glanced at the clock hanging on the wall.

His breath hitched.

This was it.

This… this was the day.

That day.

The day of reckoning.

But, of course, he'd never been good at time-spells. His magic had always been more fire than finesse. So instead of arriving at the critical moment—where he could dash in and undo the horror before it unfolded—he was early.

Painfully early.

"Brilliant," he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. "I really should've practiced more spells like this than combat magic."

The evening was merely starting. The guests probably had only begun arriving. Which meant hours of waiting. And worse… hours of avoiding himself.

That was… problematic.

He knew his own schedule that day. Where he had gone, who he had talked to. Every step had been burned into his memory. And this room? He hadn't come here, not once. That was good—it gave him a pocket of safety. But only for now.

He couldn't risk being seen. If anyone recognized him—especially himself—there was no telling what kind of paradox would unravel.

Vyan paced, mind racing. He had to hide somewhere no one would check. Or better yet, change his appearance. Yes. That would make things easier.

He flexed his fingers, mana sparking faintly at his fingertips, readying a disguise spell. He was thinking of what kind of appearance he should take on. Maybe a count's son? Or perhaps, a count himself? Or maybe, someone who didn't bring much attention—like a baron?

Just then, the door creaked open.

His heart jumped to his throat.

Instinctively, he reached for teleportation, only to stop halfway through the motion.

Teleportation doesn't work within imperial grounds, he remembered too late.

Panic surged.

He hadn't chosen a face yet. How would he escape—

"Vee?"

His breath caught. His nickname.

It was a feminine voice. Familiar. So, so familiar.